


The Windows

by criminalwriting



Series: Inspired by Poetry [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:53:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminalwriting/pseuds/criminalwriting
Summary: Reader has a reoccurring dream and suddenly can't get Emily off her mind.





	The Windows

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as part of a challenge which I will link to ASAP. 
> 
> It's based off a poem by the same name by Carol Anne Duffy. I can't find it anywhere online but you're welcome to message me on tumblr if you want me to share it with you.

Surrounded by warm light, the sound of a tv distant in the house, hearty meals long since ate whilst their smell still lingers, red wine on your lips as you look to the flowers growing in the box outside your window. Forget-me-nots, pushing through the hard soil, their buds twisting as they search for the light. Standing behind this window you watch them grow, but after moments or years, they begin to wilt. Helpless, you push at the window, forced to watch as the petals fall and their stems crumple. 

Then you wake up. Left tangled in sheets and bathed in the odd feeling of regret. 

“What am I suddenly feeling remorseful for the plants I’ve killed over the years?” You ask, leaning against the counter and looking across to your friends.

“You know, forget-me-nots traditionally symbolise love. If you’re seeing them wilt maybe you’re subconsciously worried about your inability to salvage and maintain relationships.” Reid spoke first, barely missing a beat. You have to laugh at his words. Sure enough they were true, your most recent attempts at dating had been pitiful at best. 

Yet even so, the bitter taste of spiced cherries and heavy oak still lingered just out of reach. And as you lean against the counter, a cup of crappy coffee in your hand, you can practically taste it again.

“Maybe it’s just irony?” Emily adds, stirring her coffee.

“Or a disturbing way to show my lack of gardening knowledge?” 

“Actually, the window suggests that you may be a voyeur to relationships, gardening probably doesn’t have much to do with it.” As Reid speaks, you and Emily share a look, eyebrows raised over your cups of coffee. 

“And somehow, that is more disturbing.” The three of you begin walking back to your respective desks. The coffee giving you the added incentive to begin dealing with the paperwork and cases piled on the side of your desk. 

And the more you tried to focus on the case in front of you, the harder it became to think of anything other than what Reid had said. You were sure that window boxes filled with prissy flowers was a life you didn’t want. Who’d takes a job at the BAU wanting picket fences and a consistent sleep schedule? Admittedly, you did miss the intimacy those relationships brought. The safety of knowing there’d be somebody waiting for you to come home. 

“You know dreams don’t mean anything right?” Emily pulls the file you’d forgotten about from your hands, closing it as she sits on the corner of your desk. 

“I know. Just can’t get it from my head.” You pause as you look up to her, “I’m overreacting I know.”

“Since when did you care about this sort of thing anyway?” 

“Since never. But I guess it would be nice?” Shrugging, you lean back in your chair. Cringing at your words. “Never mind, I take that back.”

She laughs softly, the light catching her hair as it falls forward on her shoulders. “Yeah, we’ve all been there, Y/N.” You’d never considered before just how odd your name sounds on her tongue, like Latin it spills out almost natural to the language, ringing with its foreign sounds and all the same, burning at your cheeks. “I’ll let you get back to work.” Standing up she hands you back the file, tapping you on the leg with it before leaving, heading towards her own desk. Your thoughts caught in a toss up of post-dream stress and watching her leave Sure that you catch a faint colour to her cheeks, your hands absently leafing through the pages of the file, knowing that sooner or later you’d have to look away. 

The weekend had slowly crept up on you. Amongst piles of paperwork and cases, half-hearted nights out coupled by cancelled plans and half drowned excuses. Soon the dream felt almost forgotten, faux memories of red wine and warm nights no longer the cause of tangled sheets and excessive sweat. 

 

But somehow. Someway, it had ended up here. 

Sat across from a man with little table manner, your lips pressed to the edge of a wine glass (the contents you’d been assured was very expensive. Despite it resembling a floral vinegar) you listened to him recite the exact figure he’d earned that very month. A heavy sigh hanging on the edge of your glass.

You’d spent at least forty minutes deciding on whether to have your hair up or down, and another half hour on whether to go with the classic black dress, or a flirty red. In the end the choice hadn’t mattered. 

From the moment you’d arrived it had been a constant commentary on the exhibition of his life. Reciting his annual income, repeating the various destinations he could go just for lunch. And as he (yet again) began to tell you of the fortune his job brings him, filling his sentences with contradictions. Your phone begins ringing, the sound both irate and blissful interrupting him and giving you the perfect excuse to leave. 

“It’s work, I have to go.” Glancing at your screen you shove your phone into your small bag as you stand up. 

“Oh come on, you’ve hardly even finished your wine.” Removing the premature napkin from his collar and tossing it to the table, he waves a hand to your glass. “I’m sure it can wait. Just finish your glass and we can -” Ignoring his words you finish the rest of the glass, pausing for a moment as you pull out a few notes to cover your half of the meal, placing them under the glass before walking away. 

 

Even if the date had been disastrous, and even if he had reminded you of why you do this job. It was hard not to feel just that little bit irritated. The taxi there carrying you past the comforting lights of families tucked in for their evenings, tv’s playing as meals cook, and lovers hold each other in tender arms. Tonight may have been a bust, but what if it hadn’t? How were you supposed to build a life on unfinished dates and forgotten meals? 

 

With a huff, you push open the doors to the conference room. Giving a small smile as you shrug off your coat. Cheeks flushing as its instantly followed by a reprimand of whistles, “Look at you baby girl, you on a hot date?” 

Facing Morgan, you shake your head, “All I wanted was one, one night off. Am I asking too much? Am I reaching for the stars here?” With a sigh, you lean forward and pick up your file, waving it around as you speak, “Do I ruin their weekend activities? Do I crush their love lives? No. I stay in my lane, and I do it during the week.” 

Emily laughs as you sit down beside her. “Yeah, I wish psychopathic killers would be a little more respectful of our weekends too.” You shoot her a look, a soft smile breaking your irritated demeanor. 

The moment instantly gone as you begin. Garcia introducing you all to the case, flicking through the images. The marred reds of your dress struck in dissension to the horror filled images in front of you. The acts numb to your eyes as you listen, and soon enough you were sat by the window of the jet, your head leaning heavy in your hand as the events of the night replayed over and over. 

“So, how was the date?” Turning your head you’re met with her expectant look, her dark eyes practically afire as she speaks, Emily pushing a coffee in front of you.

The smile you’d begun to reserve solely for her melting easily to your lips as you accepted it. “I’m not all too sure that he wasn’t a psychopathic killer.”

“That bad huh?” 

You pout, “The entire thing was just egos on parade. Oooh look at my nice car. Feel how expensive my suit is. Do you know how much money I make a month?” You mimic his voice, your heart lifting as she laughs. Thankful that at least you had somebody to laugh with. “Honestly, it just feels enough to just give up.”

“You shouldn’t” She looks as surprised by her words as you. “You’re a catch, any guy, any person would be lucky to have the chance.” 

Smiling at her words you lean towards her, nudging her with your shoulder and her giving her a grin. “I never knew Emily Prentiss had a soft side”

Rolling her eyes, she laughs all the same. 

 

The next few days were spent too focused on the case to even think about the dream that had once again made its reappearance and for once you were grateful that cases took away the chances of sleep, replacing it with a steady flow of coffee and haunting images. And for the most part it worked just fine. It gave you a chance to focus on what you loved.

 

But when the case drops cold and Hotch insists you all need to look with fresh eyes. It sends you slumped over the uneven table of the hotel room. The case spread out beside cold coffee and empty take out meals. Boredom and irritation growing as you look over the same images, again and again. 

Hotch was right. Too much of one thing is blinding. You needed the space and air to reevaluate. The case and profile that is, and as you squint to the profile you close the file, pushing your seat back under the table and reaching across the cramped space to toss away the cold coffee. A soft sigh leaving your lips as you step into the hall, following your footsteps along the dated carpet and giving three light knocks to 237. 

If you’d taken the time to ask yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to come up with an answer as to why you’d chosen her door. She was a floor above you. You’d passed four other of your colleagues doors on the way here.

Even if subconsciously it had felt natural to arrive at her door. As soon as you’d knocked you were rocked with regret. Realising she could be asleep or busy, or unavailable. Instinctively you take a step away from her door, a moment away from turning away as the door clicks open. Emily, stood in her slacks and giving you a peculiar smile as she leans against the door. 

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She glances down the hall, instinctively assuming the worst. 

“Of course, everything’s fine. I just needed to get out of my room.” You admit, touching her arm in passing as she steps to the side, welcoming you into her room. 

As far as it goes, her room was similar to yours. The same layout, same crappy hotel art plastered in their ikea frames, the case spread out over the small table. But hers accompanied by a drink stronger than coffee. The smell of heavy alcohol diluted in the air as you glance over her notes. Aware of her eyes following you around the small space. 

“Do you want a drink?”

“Sure.” Walking over to the open window, you glance out to the lights covering the vast landscape. Cowering in the velvet skies as they switch between on and off. Night air pulling in the smell of rain on concrete, whilst the sound of a distant radio carries itself between your conversation. 

Emily hands you a mug, picking up her own as she leans on the wall beside you. “You sure you’re okay?”

The cheap whiskey burns as you force it down, but not as much as her touch does. Her hand gentle and soothing, yet fire on your skin as she fights for your attention. Her cheeks as flush as yours. 

“I’m fine, Emily. This case is just...draining?” She nods in agreement, sipping from her glass. 

“Did you hear back from the wine creep?” She asks, the both of you laughing softly. 

“Unfortunately yes. He went on a spiel about women leading men on.” As the laughter between you fades, Emily finishes her drink. Watching you in sincerity as she builds the courage to speak. 

“Have you considered not...dating normal people.” She hesitated as she spoke, clearly regretting finishing her drink so soon.

“Wine creep was normal?”

“You know what I mean Y/N”

“What like from our team?” You joke, 

“I mean, you’ve got to admit having somebody that understands your hectic work life, and knows how draining this job can be sounds like it’d be a good fit.” 

For a second you're slightly taken aback by the sincerity that she'd taken your joke.“I never really thought of it like that.” You tilt your head as you play over the idea. “But you know, you don’t shit where you eat. If that gets messed up, so’s your friendship and work life. Plus I’m sure it’s a harassment case waiting to happen.” Emily pulls her hand from your arm, the cold night air suddenly harsh in her absence, the urge to reach back across to her almost impulsive. 

“But you could make it work.” 

“If it was the right person maybe. But I don’t think that risk even seems worth it.”

“But how would you know if you didn’t take that risk?” 

You were at a loss for words. Not for lack of a reply or response. But from the intensity in the dark of her eyes. The way they looked to you in search of truth, almost exposing the murmur in your chest. As close as you are to Emily, it was rare for you to ever see the trust and vulnerability she showed in that second. Fidgeting hands and lost eyes. 

And for a moment it stops. The world at a stand still as the radio outside pauses whilst the breeze goes silent. The space between you closing. Leaning closer and closer. And for a foolish second you believe that this it. 

The moment over as Emily clears her throat, pulling away from you and leaning across to shut the window. Her perfume almost overwhelming as you hold your breath. The voice of a radio host disappearing against the window frame. 

“What the hell was that?” Dry and accusing she avoids your eye. “You can’t just try that after saying it’s not worth it. Saying that I’m not worth it.”

“Emily I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Mean to what? Kiss me? You can't keep changing your mind on where you stand with me. You can't say it's not worth the risk then make a move. It doesn't work like that.” She shakes her head. Moving away from you and crossing her arms, speaking quietly this time. “I think you should leave.”

 

Looking back, that night seems almost dreamlike. A cold light filtered by a window miles in the distance. Inappropriate as you looked to the ligature marks fresh on the newest victim, harsh under the florescent light of the coroner's office. 

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You look towards Reid, his voice ringing as he looks to you in concern, suddenly realising that you’d somehow managed to look over everything he’d been saying for the past five minutes. “Sorry, uh yeah the ligature marks aren’t consistent with the other victims.” You nod. 

“You know, aside from cultural values dreams aren’t a reliable source of information. Even of our own minds.So uh you shouldn’t be worried about your dream.”

Smiling softly you look across to him, “It’s not a dream I’m worried about Spence.” 

Scrunching his face he followed you out of the office, pushing his hands into his pockets as he matched your pace. “What are you worried about then?”

You considered not telling him, telling him to mind his own business or passing it off as a simple worry. But he knows Emily as good as anyone. “I fucked it up with Emily. Like this was exactly what I meant when I said that it’s a bad idea. I misread the situation and now she won’t even look at me.”

Pausing, he frowns as he considers it for a moment. “Y/N, you ignored her feelings for months, I don’t think that she pictured you two together after you insulted her.”

“Emily already told you?” You shake your head as he gives a solemn nod. “I didn't insult her.” 

“Perhaps not purposefully,” He begins following you out of the coroner's office. “Have you apologised?”

“Not since last night. She couldn't even look me in the eyes this morning, how am I meant to fix this?” 

“Give her time.” He suggests, slowing his pace to face you. “It’ll take more than one misconstrued act for you to ruin it with her.” 

 

Eventually the case came to an end. A happy victory for all involved. But you still lingered on the kiss that could have been. Caught up in the lull of distant radios and the dark eyes of Emily Prentiss. But since, things between you two had been on edge. Neither of you quite sure how to approach the other. 

For a week you both dodged the other. Loitering at your own desks, waiting for the other to leave the kitchen before getting your own coffee, avoiding the lifts in favour of avoiding awkward conversations. Every now and then, you’d catch her looking your way, or she’d catch you doing the same. A tango of four left feet. 

 

Staring at the bottom of your glass, your eyes glazed as you watch the same episode repeat for the third time that week. A half arsed meal stewing in the oven and wafting smells of a life that isn’t yours into every corner.

Then three knocks on your door. 

Ignoring it for sake of convenience you look back to the screen, watching the commercials run before the knocks sound again. Then again.

Letting out a heavy sigh you climb off the sofa, muttering curses to yourself as you open the door. Emily stood in the dim lights, holding up a bottle of wine and a smile you’d missed.

“Hey you” Speaking quietly, barely letting your voice touch the walls. Scared she may disappear. 

“We need to talk.” She insists, looking past you and into your apartment. “Can I come in?” 

Nodding, you step aside closing the door behind her and following her into your kitchen. “Emily I shouldn’t have -”

The cork in the bottle pops, silencing the conversation as the spiced oak lingering with cherry and plum, stains the air around you. “I put you on the spot, Y/N. I don’t know what I expected.” She roots around in your cupboards, finding the glasses and filling them both before handing you one. “Plus you were right. One thing happened and we didn’t speak for a week. We let it get in the way of our professional lives.” 

“But that was my mistake…”

“And I checked. There’s at least six different rules against it.”

“Emily, I made a mistake. But I was searching for a life that just isn’t mine. I like the unpredictability of our job. I can’t have a life that’s catching the same train every night. It's better as cancelled plans and things left unsaid. I wouldn’t know that if it wasn’t for you.” You turn the stem of your glass in your hands. “I need somebody who knows what it’s like. Who can fight for herself and still be there to soften the blow. This week without you has drove me crazy. And it’s taken me this long to realise it but I need you.”

“Do you even think we could make this work?” She asks, putting her glass down beside her. 

“It’s worth the risk.”

 

In a dream you’re surrounded by warm light. The sound of a tv distant in the house, hearty meals that had long since been ate, whilst their smell still lingered. Red wine on your lips as you looked to the flowers growing in the box outside your window. Standing behind this window you watched flowers grow, then wilt. Helpless. 

But, as you sit surrounded by warm light, the hum of the tv playing distant in the apartment, red wine on your lips, a bottle half finished but not abandoned on the table. A cat curled up in your lap, resting alongside the work you’d both promised not to bring home as you look on to Emily, leaning against the back of the sofa as she speaks in hushed tones, your eyes aching with exhaustion but the smile in your cheeks refusing to let you look away.


End file.
